This Is How We Die
by effies-scrapbook
Summary: Laughter is the last sound I make, and as I blur away into the darkness, it becomes a part of the world. This is how we die, alone with nothing but your sanity, or what's left of it. -Draco, and the aftermath of war.


**This Is How We Die**

* * *

And suddenly, Aunt Bellatrix is gone. Almost like the light (or dark, if you will) ran away from those obsidian eyes, and all you see is emptiness. Her haunting cackles lingers in the air. It's her mocking laughter that I grew up listening to, it's that lullaby that I fell asleep with. What was once a staple of her insane existence is now the last thing that she's ever done in this world. What was once a nightmare-fueling, crazy laugh that her victims lost their own sanity to, is now the final sound she'd ever make. Not a beg, not a cry, not a scream, but a laugh. It's an Aunt Bellatrix thing. Or, I guess it's a Black Family thing.

And suddenly, I see my uncle scream. I don't hear it. His scream is drowned out by the sounds of flying spells and and battle cries. But you could see the shock in his eyes, the pained expression painted perfectly on his face. His lips repeat that word his wife never stood for: "No. No. No." Denial sweeps over him, but he's caught in the sea of aimless spells and gruesome death. You could tell he's screaming; but in this battle, the question is, _who's not_? In this moment, he's not the only one losing someone. His screams just add to the melody of lost lives and hurting spectators, the soundtrack of a war. This battle isn't about who lives and who dies; it's about who loses their life and who loses their sanity.

And suddenly, I watch my mother sink to the ground and cry. It's not just because of Bellatrix. She can't find me, I suppose. The weight of everything is crushing her, and she's not the only one falling apart. I admire her, you know. With her marriage hanging by a thread, she managed to stay strong. But now she's breaking, and hate surges through me. Hate for that god-awful blood traitor of an aunt, because she left my mother and aunt for a mudblood. Hate for Bellatrix for losing her mind. Hate for my father, because he's watching my mother hurt, and yet he's doing nothing to help her.

And suddenly, I hear my name. "_Draco!_" And sure enough I see Pansy. But not before she's shocked with Crucios and Sectumsempras, and then she's lying face down. Crying. Dying. Blood, which sickening enough is probably half of her's, half foreign, mixes into the dirt. Tears, misplaced on a face that's too good for sadness. She's begging. I turn and walk away from her body. _Stupid girl, shouldn't have came back. _Her voice changes tones; pain, then betrayal, then anger. As she lay dying, I'm still close enough to hear her last and final words, her desperate plea for help: _"I loved you." Yeah, well I did too. _I pretend I never heard her words, but to this day, those words haunt me. And scary enough, the words aren't muted, not indistinct like everything else I remember from the battle. It's crisp, clear, so true to her tone of distress. And I hate it.

And suddenly, I hear my father's baritone voice echoing my mother's name. Searching, longing, wanting, panicking. And in her current state of mind, she can't hear him. The grounds are empty, now, and we lost. I watch my father scream and struggle, sobbing. He calls for me, for my mother. And soon enough, his voice is gone, lost in the chaos of the aftermath. I stand unfeeling in the middle of it all. The laughter of success, the mass hysteria of loss, the sobs of families and friends. It's muted now, and I hear nothing but silence. As I look around, the faces of people I once knew but not really blur together.

And suddenly, I'm the only one, the atmosphere of the battle lingering. It's an unwanted feeling. But it's there, and I can't do much about it.

And suddenly, I'm losing my mind. It's been a week since the battle. I see images of my battered uncle, his mind no longer there, crying by the body of Bellatrix. I see memories of teachers wandering aimlessly, shooting glances and glares toward my way when they pass buy me. I hear Alecto Carrow's maddening voice booming with defeat when they came to bring her to prison, her very words haunting me: "You say we've lost? Look here, you filth. This tattoo branded on my arm—it's gonna stay with me, yes? You can't get rid of it. No charm or spell will take it off. As long as we have it, we're winners. No matter if the Dark Lord is gone—we're bloody champions of this godforsaken war. Because look who killed all these people? Look who lost more people. LOOK AT US. God_dammit._" But she knows it's over. We lost. That's kind of it.

And suddenly, there's more to our loss that most people look over. While the surviving Death Eaters ultimately lose themselves in Azkaban, they lose something more. They lose humanity, sanity, their family. And their families—_oh, how can I not stress more about this_—lose them too. As much as you think they're cruel bastards who deserve to burn in Hell, they've got something important to them too. And that something also feeds off of their existence. It's a perfect co-dependency shattered by the war.

And suddenly, I'm alone (_mentally, for my mother is out of it, her mind gone_) in the manor. Feeding off the remnants of childhood innocence and memories, I remain intact. But did I really have a childhood? No. No, not really.

And suddenly, in the midst of solitude, I'm married. I have a kid. Time fast-forwards and the years marred by increasing insanity are masked by the existence of Scorpius. I could forget it, too. Erase my mind of horrid nightmares, of disgusting memories. I can forget everything about the war.

But then there's my mother.

She's wasting away in her bedroom, and she's out of it. She's not herself, and I'm afraid she never will be. Muttering nonsensical words, singing songs out of the blue, crying herself to sleep. That moment of mental breakdown at the battle was, essentially, her understanding of loss. And that realization hit her like a train. And her mad being reminds me of everything. My aunts, my father, the war. My tattoo that bears on my left arm. If I were to erase my memories, I wouldn't remember my own mother. Can't have that, now.

And suddenly, I hear my mother laughing. And suddenly, she's dying. Strike three for Blacks who die laughing.

And suddenly, life is ending.

And suddenly I'm laughing, losing my mind. Welcoming death with a free chuckle. Holding Astoria's hand, watching my grandson cry at the foot of my bed. They become a blur with images of my aunts and uncles, my parents, and their silence sounds distant. Losing my grasp on life, which wasn't really life because the last fifty years were spent with dwindling sanity, I laugh the world away.

And I guess this is how we die. Death, and all his friends, greet you with your past; remind you of your lies, the lowest points of life, your pain, your tears. And yet us Blacks—we die laughing. I guess it's just our Black arrogance at work. Let's have Death see our conceitedness, cheat him of the pleasure of our fear. Show him we're not scared of Hell, even though we are.

Laughter is the last sound I make, and as I blur away into the darkness, it becomes a part of the world.

This is how we die, alone with nothing but your sanity, or what's left of it.

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**A/N: As a birthday gift for myself, I'm publishing this. Thirteen baby! I wrote this at a party, so please excuse any grammatical/spelling errors. :) Thank you! I wrote this because, well one: I'm infatuated with the Black Family. And two: we never really see Draco in the epilogue. Yes, he's there with his kid and Astoria. But what's going on with him? What happened in those seventeen years? And plus, I love the Malfoys too! And anyway, the idea of insanity being hereditary interests me. Huh. OH, and by the way, the uncle Draco refers to is Rodolphus, if you didn't guess. Haha, well R E V I E W. :D**


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